An Unwatched Minute

by J. M. Peace

  "You know I just want to grab him by the scruff of the neck and pummel him. I hate being the reason this was done to Piper, the reason why she's scared and sad. I hate it. I've got to stick to the rules though. Otherwise it all goes south."

  Karen was incensed "He had a big pair of scissors on that bus. He could have just as easily stabbed her."

  "I know. But he didn't. I don't think he would. There's a big difference between snipping off a bit of hair and stabbing another human being."

  "Piper said he was laughing like a maniac, that he sounded crazy. She's terrified. Who knows what else he's capable of?"

  "We'll keep her out of school for a bit. I'm sure the school can send some work home for her. Or I'll drive her there personally. She'll be safe at school. It's just getting there. I'll juggle it. We can sort it out."

  "He should be locked up," Karen said.

  "I'll talk to Sharpey about what we can do straight away. But she'll need to do a statement at some point."

  "It doesn't have to be done straightaway, does it?

  "No, no," Simon replied.

  "She's not up to it," Karen said. "I don't know when she'll be up to it. She doesn't want to go back to school."

  "I'll drive her every..." Simon said.

  "Ever. She doesn't want to go back to that school ever, Simon. And I don't blame her. Not only does she risk running into that little monster or some of his relatives everyday but she's embarrassed. She screamed, she cried. On the bus, in front of her school mates. That's a lot for a teenage girl to get past."

  Simon sighed. "What do you want me to do?" he asked quietly.

  "I think we're done here in Tannin Bay," Karen said.

  "There's so much going on at the moment, with the death and the investigation. I've got a lot on my plate at the moment."

  "But your first priority now, especially now, should be your family. Not your job. Not the town. But your family. Do you see what you put us through? This is the worst thing that's happened, but it is not the first thing that's happened. It is not always easy being married to a copper. And the fact is that you always seem to be a police officer first and a father and husband second."

  "I can't just pack up and leave," Simon said.

  "I know. But I can. And the kids can." With that, Karen walked into the bedroom and shut the door behind her.

  67.

  Once again, the staff were crammed into the biggest room at the station. Those who hadn't nabbed a chair around the table, were leaning against the counter and wall of the meal room. Everyone had come, even the station cleaner. The mood had changed from the last time. There was now the crackling of anger and animosity, as the staff talked about the Hegartys.

  Simon raised both hands once the crew had arrived to signal the start of the meeting.

  "Okay, troops," he said in a loud voice. He waited until the room was completely quiet.

  "The Hegartys are pushing their luck now. Clearly, they're not accepting the results of the investigation and they've decided to try a little retribution against us. First it was Coop's car. And I'm sure all of you have heard what happened to Piper. They've made it personal."

  "Damn straight," Coops said. His car was only just back on the road and he was complaining that it still smelt funny.

  "The question is, where are they going to stop?" Sharpey asked. There were noises of agreement around the room.

  "We have to stick together," Simon replied. "We have to look out for each other. More patrols of everyone's houses. Let everyone know if you see anything unusual. Send an email to the station if you see any of them skulking around so everyone knows what they're up to, where they're hanging out. Even if you hear something on the grapevine, share it around. We need to stay on top of them. If we stick together, make it clear that we're a united force, there'll be no problems," Simon said.

  "Hopefully," Coops muttered.

  "I'm a bit worried, boss." Michi raised her voice. "It's all well and good to take the extra precautions at work. But everyone knows where we live, who we're married to, who our kids are. What about our families? I wouldn't put anything past these Hegarty assholes, after what they've done to Piper."

  This had crossed Simon's mind too. His own family lived within spitting distance of the police station. He would have thought it didn't get much safer than that but despite that, his daughter had been the one to suffer. Everybody in the room was silent, waiting for his response.

  "It was only the shitbag son. I don't think anyone has put him up to it. He's just a badly behaved teenager. He'd take any excuse to play up."

  There was some mumbling between officers. Simon continued.

  "But it is a conversation you're going to have to have at home. With your wives, your husbands, your partners, your kids. Everyone just needs to stay alert."

  "If anyone touches my kids, there'll be another death," Coops said. "I'd keep it out of the watch house as a courtesy to you though Boss."

  Simon turned on Coops, finger pointed. "You are a police officer and you will behave as one," he said abruptly.

  Coops tilted his chin forward slightly. "I'm also a dad," he replied. "Don't even pretend that what just happened to Piper isn't having repercussions on your family."

  Simon knew there was no way he could keep it quiet that his family was leaving town because of this. But he did not need to have it thrown in his face at a station meeting. There were other things at play between Karen and himself. This was just a convenient excuse for her to head back to Brisbane. It was an excuse that he currently had no argument against.

  "This isn't about my family. It's not about anyone's family here. It's about the Hegartys, playing the victims and taking petty revenge. They're not hardened criminals, they're just idiots who want everything their own way," Simon said.

  "You're right, Simon," Sharpey said "We're the police. So let's slam them, charge them with anything we can. They're always driving defective cars, or smoking with the kids in the back..."

  "No, no!" Simon said. "All wrong. This is not us versus them and wait to see who wins. It's not a war. Don't turn it into one. They're blowing off some steam. Keep an eye on them, but don't let them wind you up. Don't let them bait you."

  More muttering around the room, but nothing overt.

  "No, it's not fair," Simon said, lowering his voice again. "And it should never have to play out like this. But this is the situation we all find ourselves in and we need to use some caution along with some common sense. There's going to be some roster changes due to what's happened. We're going to try to roster an extra person on nights. So if you put in a request for a day off and don't get it, I'm sorry. If you're doing twice as many nights as usual, I'm sorry. We'll try to square it all up in the future. Right now, we need cover our backs. Look out for yourselves. Look out for each other." He slowly scanned the room, making eye contact with each officer.

  "This will be old news before we know it. But until then, we keep it all amongst ourselves. We're a team. We stick together. Okay?"

  There were noises of agreement from most of the staff. Simon nodded. "Okay then. Let's get back to it."

  The room emptied. Those officers working the shift returned to the day room. Staff who had just come in for the meeting, filed out towards the back door.

  Only Mort remained, staring at the laminex table, scrubbing angrily at a stain on it with his fingernail.

  68.

  There were quite a few people in the pub, but Mort was the only one sitting alone. He was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he didn't notice the woman come in, even though every other man in the pub surely did. It wasn't until she stood at his table and said, "excuse me please," that he looked at her.

  "Yes?" he said. The whiskey was already working its magic and he blinked twice trying to work out if he knew this woman.

  "Sorry to bother you," she said with a coy smile, "but I was wondering if I could sit with you for a minute?"

  Mort definitely didn't know her. There wasn't a wom
an like this one in town. He would have remembered. Her platinum blonde hair contrasted against her tanned face. The dress she was wearing looked like it was a size too small for her. Her bust strained against the front of it, and most of her long legs were on display.

  "Sure," Mort said. He half rose to his feet and gestured to the seat opposite him.

  "Thank you," she said, flashing a gleaming smile. "The guys over there..." She gestured to a group of young men at the bar. "...Were giving me a hard time."

  Mort looked, recognising most of the faces at the bar. "Just tradies," he said dismissively.

  "I just wanted a quiet drink," the woman replied. "And it looks like that's exactly what you're doing too." She extended her hand. "Belle," she said.

  "Malachi," he replied. He took her hand so tentatively that he ended up grasping only the tops of her fingers. "Are you visiting town?"

  "Yes. I'm just up here for a few days for work."

  "What do you do?" Mort asked.

  "I'm a researcher."

  "Sounds important," he replied.

  She laughed. "Not really. How about you?"

  "No, I'm not important either," he said.

  She smiled and leaned across the table towards him, and it took some effort not to stare at her cleavage.

  "No, silly," she said. "What do you do?"

  He hesitated. Should he go with the old 'public servant' cover-up? "I'm a cop," he said.

  "Oh, how exciting." She leaned forward again. Mort blinked rapidly and took another gulp of whiskey. "I've got a cousin who's a cop. He's in Sydney though. I reckon it would be so much nicer working somewhere like Tannin Bay, than a big city."

  Mort shrugged. "It has its moments."

  Belle paused. "May I buy you a drink, Malachi? I'd feel so much safer sitting here with you, it's much more pleasant having a drink with someone you can have a nice chat to."

  "No, it's..."

  She waved down his refusal. "What are you drinking?"

  "No, really."

  "I bet the barman knows," she said with a wink and walked up to the bar. When she returned with two whiskeys, she slid onto the seat next to Mort instead of opposite him.

  Several whiskeys later, she had her arm around him and was leaning in so close, her breast pushed against his arm. She was still so interested in hearing about him and his job. Everything was blurry. She had to whisper it twice before he realised what she was saying.

  "Let's go back to your place."

  Mort considered this as best he could. He breathed in her scent, warm and sweet and thought of the barracks.

  "Don’t you have a room in town we can go to?"

  "I'm sharing with someone," she replied. The words tickled, her lips were so close to his ear.

  "I live at the station barracks," he mumbled.

  "Cool!" she exclaimed and her eyes were wide and bright.

  Mort knew Krista was working the late shift, she wouldn't be home. She'd be leaving for good soon anyway. Nothing was going to happen between them now. Why not take this woman home? A little stress relief with a hot stranger who would leave town in a couple of days.

  "Okay," he said. He rose to his feet, offering her his hand, though he was the one who staggered slightly and leant against her to steady himself. It was a fairly short walk back to the barracks. They held hands and each time she laughed, it sounded like music. They walked past the station and came in from the side of the barracks, so there was less chance of being seen by anyone. He had no desire to have to try to explain this.

  He paused at the door of the barracks. It was locked. He dug in his pockets for the keys. Did he even have them with him? He cursed under his breath, but then found them.

  "C'mon in..." he said, turning to invite the girl in. But she wasn't there.

  He took two wobbly steps backwards, confused. She had been right next to him. He turned. What was she doing at the loading dock at the station?

  "Hey!" he called. Something wasn't right. He hurried across. She was holding her phone, turning slowly around. What was she doing? He saw their surroundings on the screen of her phone. She was filming on her phone, panning around the loading dock, the door to the watch house, the back door to the station.

  "Hey, stop!" he demanded, still trying to get his head around what was going on. "You can't do that." None of it made sense. Why was she so interested in the back of the station? He reached for her arm. She jumped out of the way. "Nuh-uh," she said.

  "What? Come on, I found the keys," he said, tipping his head in the direction of the barracks.

  She smiled, but it wasn't friendly. She turned her phone to face him as he reached for her one more time.

  "What?" He couldn't work it out. Hadn't she been the one to suggest coming back to his place.

  "I'm done," she said. "I've got what I came for."

  She turned to walk back down the driveway.

  "Hey," he said. "Belle!" He took two steps after her and she turned, held her hand up in a 'stop' gesture.

  "I'm going," she said.

  "C'mon, what are you doing?" he pleaded.

  She pointed to her phone facing him.

  "There's footage this time, Senior Constable."

  She gave him a smug smile and briskly walked away as if she hadn't had anything to drink at all.

  Mort had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach which only partly had something to do with the amount of whiskey in there. He turned around to see Krista standing at the edge of the patio in front of the barracks. She was wearing her pyjamas, and had her arms folded across her chest.

  "Krista," Mort stammered. "I thought you were at work."

  "I finished at ten," she said. Mort glanced at his watch. Was it really after midnight?

  "I heard you trying to get into the barracks and then you were shouting," Krista said. "I thought something was wrong so I came out."

  Mort shook his head. "I don't even know what just happened," Mort said. He walked across to the patio, leaned heavily against one of the posts.

  "Do you know that woman?" Krista asked.

  Again, Mort shrugged. She had picked him up. She had been the one thrusting her boobs at him and leaning in close.

  "I think I recognised her," Krista said. "She's off one of those current affairs programs."

  Even though he was drunk, everything then made sense to Mort. A wave of nausea hit him. He threw up in the flowerbed next to the front door of the barracks. Krista stared at him before slowly getting the hose.

  "Sorry," he mumbled, then walked to his bedroom because nothing else made any sense.

  69.

  At 10am, after a couple of Panadol, a strong coffee and three minutes of concerted toothbrushing, Mort sought out the Colonel. It was Sunday, so he walked around to the front door of the station residence and knocked. There was no movement from inside, but he needed to be sure the Colonel heard about this from him and not someone else. Mort knocked again, louder. This time he heard footsteps from somewhere and the Colonel answered the door. They were almost a reflection of each other. Red-eyed, unshaven and scruffy.

  "Sorry to bother you on a weekend boss, but I need to talk to you."

  The Colonel stepped aside to let him in without a word. Shit, he was in a bad mood before Mort had even started explaining.

  The curtains were still drawn, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the lounge room, Mort noticed things were missing. Not just the lack of noise and light, but also pictures were gone from the walls, knick knacks and those homely touches were missing. Karen and the kids were gone. Not just for a holiday. They'd moved out. The now-familiar nauseous feeling crept up past the coffee in his guts.

  The furniture was still in place, and the Colonel motioned for him to take a seat on the couch.

  "What's up Mort?" he asked without preamble.

  "Simon, I fucked up last night." He slumped on the couch as if all the air had gone out of him.

  The Colonel squeezed his eyes shut for a half second.


  "What happened?"

  "This chick picked me up at the pub. She was a stunner. We talked for ages, really hit it off. And the next thing I know, she's asking to come back to my place."

  "Good for you," the Colonel said.

  "I was pretty drunk. I thought she was too. I thought it would just be a little fun, a distraction from all the shit going on."

  The Colonel nodded. "But it wasn’t?"

  "Anyway, when we got back to the barracks, when I was unlocking the door, she just kind of walked off." Mort took a deep breath. "She went to the back of the station and started filming with her phone. Filming the loading dock and the paddy wagon was parked there too. Then she just blew me off and walked away."

  "What was she doing?" the Colonel asked.

  "Well, Krista heard me calling out to this woman and she came out. She thought she recognised her as being off one of the current affairs shows."

  "Oh no," the Colonel groaned. "Who is she?"

  Mort swallowed hard forcing a half mouthful of sour whiskey back down.

  "Isabella Cronk. From Sunday Confidential. I googled her. It was definitely her. She called herself 'Belle' and said she was a researcher or something. She played me like a second hand guitar."

  The Colonel groaned, rubbed a hand across his eyes.

  "Seriously, Mort? It’s that easy to suck you in?”

  "I'm sorry, boss. I'm so sorry. She kept buying me drinks." Mort dropped his head and put his face in his hands.

  "The shit's not yet settled from that death and you let random chicks pick you up in the bar where it all started? I didn't think you'd be that stupid."

  Mort didn't raise his face. "I don't know what to tell you. I was drunk. I'm sorry."

  "What exactly did she film?"

  "Just the back of the station, the door to the watch house, the loading dock, the paddy wagon. There was no one there. It doesn't really matter, does it?"

  "Not really. But she was collecting footage. It means they're doing a story about what happened here doesn't it?" The Colonel didn't pause for an answer. "And what did you talk to her about? What did you tell her?"